


Frank Castle X Reader – Recoil

by writeyouin



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Action & Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader-Insert, Shooting Guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 19:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14195868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeyouin/pseuds/writeyouin
Summary: When Frank realises the reader doesn't know self-defence, he holds a lesson in proper gun use.





	Frank Castle X Reader – Recoil

You walked down the gloomy streets of Hell’s Kitchen, heading home from a long day at work, photographing scenery for the newspaper; your headphones drowned of the many sounds of the groaning city.

There was no time to think as an attack came from behind, you were kicked hard to the ground; a muscled arm dragged you back up, pulling you into a choke-hold, the shock knocking your headphones out.

You attempted to scream, to claw at the attacker, to run; the attacker resisted all, cutting your screams off by tightening his grip. Blurry darkness clouded your vision, just as you thought life was over you were released, and spun round by your attacker in the process.

“Frank!” you wheezed, fear turning into anger.

Frank glared at you coolly, “You said you could defend yourself, I didn’t see much defending.”

“That wasn’t a fair fight,” you argued weakly.

“There’s no such thing as a fair fight, you kill or you die; there’s no in-between.”

You didn’t answer, you were too busy trying to supress the shock that was setting in, making you shiver uncontrollably.

His features softened slightly, “You think I got off on that? I hated it; it doesn’t change the fact that you need to learn defence.”

The gruff sincerity of his tone got to you, you nodded a small consent; Frank took hold of you, letting you lean on him for support, and led you away.

* * *

Violent black bruises had already began forming on your neck by the time the two of you arrived at the neglected roof of an abandoned warehouse; the unpleasant scent of rust and decay lingered in the air.

Frank nudged you toward a crate laden with all manner of guns, ranging from tiny pistols to large semi-assault rifles. You recoiled from the guns like they were cobras, ready to strike at any second.

Swallowing thickly, you glanced fearfully toward Frank, “W-why all the guns Frank?”

“You’ll start with this then we’ll move onto hand-to-hand,” he stated, matter-of-factly.

“Isn’t that a bit backwards?”

“We live in Hell’s Kitchen, no matter where you go there’ll be guns. Shop on the corner – guns. In your purse – guns. A little old lady’s house – guns. They’re always at hand and they’re dangerous, you’ll learn these first.”

Reluctantly, you picked up the smallest revolver, hating the weight and responsibility that came with it, then with a rough sigh, you conceded, “Alright. Where do I start?”

Frank snatched the gun from you, shoving a sawed off shotgun into your arms instead.

You stared at him in disbelief, “You can’t be serious; this isn’t for beginners.”

“You learn to control that and you’ll learn to control anything.”

“So you think I can do it?”

“I think you’ll get knocked on your ass.”

That was not the kind of support that you’d been searching for but it did spur you on, determined to prove him wrong, “Just tell me how to shoot.”

He pointed you toward a target, “Left foot forward, rest the butt against your shoulder,  **never**  your waist, aim and shoot, the gun will do the rest.”

You prepared to follow the instructions, resolute in the decision to stay standing; upon shooting, the gun’s recoil slammed through you, throwing you to the ground, the deafening bang reverberating through your ears. Looking up you saw that you had missed the target, denting the concrete to its left instead.

Frank helped you up, carefully this time, “You okay?” worry that he’d pushed you too far ran through him.

You nodded, bewildered.

Instant relief smoothed Frank’s creased features, “Let’s try again then,” he put you back into position, holding your arms to stop the shaking, “Put more weight on your left foot, it’ll hold you up.”

You did as he said, shooting again; with Frank there to steady your aim you remained standing, hitting the target in one shot. With each practice shot he moved further away, giving you more control until you could hit the target alone; eventually he put you onto moving targets, finishing the lesson with a little instruction on pistols.

Heading to the bottom of the building, you asked something that had been on your mind since the beginning of the evening, “Frank… are you teaching me this because I live in Hell’s Kitchen or because I know you.”

“(Y/N), people call me the Punisher, bad shit follows me wherever I go; I’ll be damned if you get killed just for knowing me, so yeah I’m teaching you to shoot because of that. It’s not the only reason but it is the most obvious.”

He tried to push ahead, ready to avoid eye contact, you grabbed his hand, pulling him back, “Thank you,” you kissed his cheek lightly; it was the only thing that you knew could possibly begin to show the man that he wasn’t the monster everyone thought he was.

He blinked hard, struggling through confusion, “Go home… don’t get killed.”

“What about you?”

“It’s me who does the killing.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, meet here for hand-to-hand.”

“So I’m done with the guns?”

“After one day, not a chance, we’ll improve that later, now go home.”

“Goodnight Frank.”

“Night… (Y/N),” he whispered, breaking away grimly to clean up the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.


End file.
